The Other Arm of the Law
by whydon'twejustplayitonkazoos
Summary: Sam and Dean thought they'd seen everything, but one night they get saved by a mysterious stranger who them that things aren't exactly as they thought. Rated Mature for language and maybe some later explicit scenes
1. Chapter 1

I've finally decided to have a go at an SPN fic, although admittedly this is a bit... different. It involves several OC's, and a deviation from the usual type of SPN fics, I guess. Tbh this felt sort of awkward when writing, and I'm not that happy with it yet, but anywho, here goes...

Please read & review,

hope you like it

-A x

* * *

As you pass through a crowd you observe a countless number of nameless faces. Your conscious mind will immediately disregard the features and appearances of those around you. They will be forgotten in an instant.

There are some, however, who cannot afford to forget even the smallest details. They do not have such luxuries. A combination of training and instinct ensures that nothing escapes their watchful eyes.

One such person is, at this moment, silently observing even the slightest movement of those around her. She sees the man at the table next to her spill his wine over his date, and watches as he clambers around with a napkin in an attempt to clean up the mess. She notices that when dabbing at his date's dress, the man's hand lingers a few seconds too long on her thigh, fingers spreading an inch or two wider than necessary.

She spots the waiter inside the restaurant, bringing someone's order. He has a limp. It's too pronounced to be a birth defect, and the slight wrinkles at the corner's of his eyes are the only clues to his pain.

To her left, a fly lands in an overweight man's soup. Everyone else has noticed, but they don't say anything. He's noticed too, but he continues to slurp away regardless.

And finally at the top left corner of the patio, an middle-aged man with greying hair that betrays his years, sits with a guarded posture and flight-ready feet. He has a concealed weapon on his right hip. Most likely a cop, not edgy enough for the bureau, too old-school for the agency.

As she sits alone at an exclusive patio table at _Le Poignard Noir_, twiddling a breadstick through her fingers and taking frequent yet subtle glances at the restaurant's other patrons, Kat Summers began to think she was being stood up.

_Typical. He calls me, I come running, then he leaves me high and dry._

A sudden shiver passes over her skin despite the unseasonable warmth of the evening, and that's how she knows.

_He's here._

She looks up to see a tall, impeccably dressed man, with sweeping blond hair pass through the restaurant and cross out onto the patio.

"You always did know how to make an entrance" She smiles as he approaches her table, "Although I think you've passed the boundaries of 'fashionably late' by a good 40 minutes."

"Well, you know me dear. Always like to keep them waiting." His voice, though deepened with age was as beautifully velveteen as she remembers. She stands and he wraps her up in a tight embrace. "Sister. It is good to see you."

"Likewise, Brother." She says as they pull apart. "But tell me," She motions for them to sit down, "Why now? After all these years..." She trails off as the waiter comes to take their orders. When he leaves, she raises an expectant eyebrow at the man across from her.

"Katrina, there is no easy explanation, and I fear the joy of our reunion may be short-lived." He answers, lowering his gaze, avoiding her eyes.

"Ollie," She reaches across the table to place her hand over his, "Is it- is one of the others, are they alright? Is someone-?"

"Relax, Kitty-Kat. The others are fine. _He _is fine."

Kat nods, tension visibly seeping out of her frame at Ollie's worlds. The grim set of his features, however, does not permit her to relax entirely. "What is it?" She asks, unsure if she really wants to hear the answer.

"Something's coming. Something big-" He pauses as the waiter returns with meals, waiting until the man limps off to another table. "But that is not why I have called you here tonight. I have _seen _things."

"Forgive me, Brother, but you _see things _all the time."

"Exactly I see _things._ Not people. At least, not any people who aren't like us. Until now."

"What do you mean?"

Ollie takes a rather large gulp of wine before continuing. "There have been hundreds of images, some clearer than others, some lasting several minutes, other only a few seconds. But each time is the same. Each vision has the same people. Two people."

Kat's eyebrow's knit together in confusion, as she listened. None of this made any sense.

"And every vision leads me to believe the same thing."

"What?"

"I can't-" He reaches up to run a hand through his hair. "Now is not the time for that, no. I must tell you," He leans across the table, bidding her closer. "You must find them, keep them safe. It's the only way to stop it."

"Stop what?"

"You will know, in due time. But for now I need you to trust me on this, Kit."

That was the second time he'd reference her old pet-names. Kat bit her tongue to hold back the tears. "Tell me where to find them."

"They will come to you."

"What exactly am I looking for?" She asked, getting rather annoyed with all the cryptic answers Ollie was giving her. "Who are they?"

"Sam and Dean Winchester."

The door of the Impala swung closed and Dean looked over at his brother. "Dude, did you bring the pie?"

"When have I ever forgotten the pie?" Sam shot back as the elder Winchester brother started rifling through the plastic bag, eyes lighting up like a kid on Christmas when he located the pie.

"So, whufff eeegst einnn dah fschwist?" Dean asked through a mouthful of pecan pie. Sam, well used to his brother's eating habits by now, simply screwed up his nose and mentally translated that as "So, what's next on the list?"

"Uh, Bobby thinks there's a few demon omens back east, a werewolf sighting not too far ahead, but that could be a hoax. And there's been a few unexplained, yet grisly murders up north. All the victims gutted and had their throats ripped out while alive."

"What?"

"That's what the coroner says. Somehow whatever it was keep the vics alive until after they were done."

"Huh. Supernatural bastards are into some freaky shit. Whattaya think, vamps?"

"Could just as easily be werewolves. Or even a poltergeist, some vengeful spirits could pull that off easily."

"Yeah, whatever it is, sound like our gig." Dean turned the key in the ignition, and the Impala roared to life. They pulled out of the gas station and headed north into the city.

Four hours later, Sam and Dean could be found in an abandoned high-rise building, fending off, or rather being outnumbered by, several vampires. Sam's arm arced through the air and sliced the head off of a tall brunette, and spun around to chop the head off the vamp that had been attempting to sneak up behind him. He let out a sigh of relief as the body dropped to the floor, head rolling off somewhere in the darkness, and looked up to see his older brother still surrounded by three vamps.

Dean looked in confusion at the red-haired female in front of him. He was _sure _he'd already chopped that head off its shoulder's. _Twice. _The moment's hesitation was enough for another vamp to grab his machete-wielding hand and twist so that he dropped the weapon.

The vampire kicked the knife away. _Huh, maybe we should keep those things on a bungee, _Dean thought absently. He was pulled out of his thoughts as the vampire's grip on his hand tightened incredibly and soon Dean was only aware of the sheer _pain _in his hand and shooting up his arm. Vaguely he registered the sickening sound of several bones cracking at once, and from somewhere in the distance he could hear Sammy calling his name.

But right now, Dean couldn't focus on any of that. The pain made it feel like this moment was going to drag on forever, when in reality only a few seconds had passed. Complete and utter agony overwhelmed Dean's entire being, and he was seconds away from passing out cold on the concrete floor. Just as the blackness began to creep across the edges of his vision, he heard some more shouts in the background, then-

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Sam, who had been rushing to his brother's aid, almost ready to chop off another head, looked up at the sounds of the shots, then back as the body in front of him slumped to the ground, followed by the other two.

_What the hell?_

But he could worry about that later, right now Dean was all that mattered.

"Dean." He breathed out as he took a step closer to his brother. Dean lay on the cold, hard concrete, unmoving except for the flicker of his eyes, searching out his brother's voice. Sam knelt down beside the older Winchester, cradling him in his arms.

"Come on, Dean. Stay with me," he begged.

There was a snapping sound beside him, and Sam looked up. Standing there was a woman, dressed entirely in black clothing, most of it leather. Dean would certainly have appreciated the tight, curve-hugging material had he not been almost unconscious.

The knelt down beside the two brothers and reached out, holding what appeared to be a snapped twig under Dean's nose. Sam's eyebrow's knitted together in confusion, but then Dean suddenly took a sharp intake of breath, sitting up and scrambling away from Sam, coughing fiercely.

"_What the hell was that?" _Dean exclaimed as he rubbed his tear-red eyes.

"Hemlock." The woman spoke for the first time, her voice soft and pleasant, but with a hint of irritation in her tone. "Come on," she said, standing up. "Let's get out of here before more show up."

Sam helped Dean to his feet as the woman walks across the floor. "Wait, where are we going?" he shouted after her.

"Someplace safe." Came the reply.

Dean grunted at that. "How do we know we can trust you?"

She stopped walking and spun around, holding a handgun neither of the men had seen her pull out.

"If you don't want to come, I could just shoot you."

"Fair enough. Come on, Sammy." Dean stalked off after her before Sam could protest.

Dean let out a low whistle as they crossed the threshold of an up-market penthouse apartment. It was stylishly decorated in neutral colours, with floor-to-ceiling windows along one side of the open-plan living and stunning hardwood floors.

When his eyes had done a full circle of the room, his gaze returned to the woman who had brought them here. For the first time, he was able to take in her appearance. Dressed almost head to toe in what looked like an awful lot of black leather, she was tall and slender, with a defined musculature in her upper arms which could be seen now that she'd removed the jacket. She had curves in all the right places, and the leather and two thigh-holster, each containing a handgun, gave her a sort of dominatrix look.

Her hair was somewhat harder to define. A mixture of deep brown, gold and something like copper gave it an overall bronze colour. The colour was odd, but it didn't look as if she had dyed it, although he doubts that shade is entirely natural. Under any other circumstances, Dean would certainly have tried it on with her. Actually, he still might. Depending on how the next few minutes panned out.

"Just who the hell are you?" He asks.

"First things first." She says as she disappears into another room, returning several seconds late with a handful of bandages and a splint. "Let's get that hand of yours sorted out." Surprised, Dean looked down at his left hand. He'd almost forgotten about it. He hadn't felt any pain in it since he'd left the vamp nest. Huh.

She gestured to the large leather sofa in the middle of the room, and they sat down, Sam settled in the armchair to Dean's right. She reached for Dean's hand, holding it gently in hers before speaking again.

"Ask me, now."

"What?"

"I have to straighten out your fingers so I can attach the splint. The drugs won't last much longer, and then you'll feel everything, so it'll probably help if you're distracted. Ask me whatever you want."

Before Dean could open his mouth to respond, Sam's intellectual curiosity got the better of him.

"Wait, drugs? I thought you said you used hemlock?"

"I did. It's a mixed breed. The root stem was transplanted with an opium plant, and with help of a little magic, it can be used not only to revive someone, but also to as a fast-acting painkiller." She answered, hands moving swiftly over Dean's injured one.

"But isn't hemlock poisonous?"

"_What_?" Dean cried, turning to look at his brother, then back at the woman attending his hand.

"Yes," she replied. "But it's only fatal to humans if they inhale more than 100mg. The slight whiff you got won't do much harm."

Dean didn't miss that she'd said "much" instead of "any".

"Just who the _hell _are you?" Dean asked again, growing impatient.

"Katrina Summers. Call me Kat."

"Okay..." Dean sighed when it became obvious that _Kat _wasn't going to elaborate any further. "I'm-"

"Dean, and that's Sam." She cut him off. "I know who you are."

Dean's eyebrows almost vanished into his hairline. "How?"

"Long story."

Silence.

"Alright, next question. What was that back there?"

"A vampire coven."

"Yeah, sister, we got that much. But you _shot _them. Last time I checked you had to cut off a vamp's head to kill it."

"And look how well that worked for you," she said sarcastically, with a roll of her eyes. "Chopping their heads off only made those things angrier. It might slow them down, but... you're lucky you were still alive when I got there."

"That's another thing. How'd you know where to find us?"

"I have my ways." was the cryptic reply. "There. All done."

Dean glanced down to see his hand and wrist straightened out and bandaged along a splint. He started to feel a slight throbbing in his fingers, but it wasn't exactly pain. Not yet, anyway.

"That should do, at least until I find a more permanent solution."

"What do you mean "more permanent"?" Sam asked, ever curious when it came to his brother's well-being.

"The bones in your brother's hand were shattered. Almost all of them. If he doesn't get some sort of assistance, he could lose the use of his hand altogether." With that, Kat gathered up what was left of the medical supplies and left the room again.

Sam and Dean watched her leave, then turned to look at one another.

"What the hell, man?" Dean asked.

"I dunno."

"No, seriously. What the hell?"

"I _seriously _don't know Dean. But-" He paused, looking around the spacious room. "She seems to be on our side, at least. And a hunter. That's something, right?"

"Yeah, I guess." Dean sighed as he sank back into the couch. "What the hell kinda vamps were those, Sammy? I've never heard of anyone just _shooting _a goddamn vampire!"

Before Sam could reply, they heard footsteps coming back towards them. Kat came back into the room, carrying a pile of clothes in her arms. She dumped the pile on top of the coffee table, before turning back to the two Winchesters.

"You boys should get out of those clothes. You're covered in vamp blood." When she saw Sam was about to protest, Kat held up a hand to stop him. "If you wear them for much longer, they'll trail you back to here, and I'd much rather they didn't know where I lived, thank you very much.

I have some t-shirts and sleep-pants that should fit you both. Regular for Dean, extra-tall fitting for Sam. And I'd advise you to stay here until I get someone to have a look at that hand. You can stay in the study, I have a pull-out couch and an air mattress I can set up for ya.

For now, you're welcome to use the shower. In fact, I'd encourage it. I know you have questions, and I will answer them, but later. Let's get you settled first. Bathroom's down the hall, first door on the right. There are clean towels on the rack, just throw your clothes into the hamper."

With that Kat disappeared down the hall again.

Sam snorted lightly, "She's something, isn't she?"

"I'll say."

"I think we should leave." At Dean's utterly aghast expression, he continued, "Dean, we don't know her from Eve. She could be anyone. She could be a psychopath for all we know."

"Sammy, I'm gonna give you some brotherly advice and I want you to listen to me." Dean said sternly. "When a hot girl asks you to stay the night, you _stay, _dammit."

Sam let out an unimpressed huff. "Seriously, Dean?" Dean shrugged unapologetically.

"I don't know about you, Sammy, but it's been _weeks _for me."

Sam laughed, "Oh please. She will eat you alive, man."

"That's what I'm hoping for." Dean waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and headed off in the direction of the bathroom.

Once everyone had showered and changed into something more comfortable, Kat had stuffed their blood-stained clothes into the washing machine, and poured them a large brandy each, before settling back onto the sofa.

She was wearing bed-shorts and an overly large band t-shirt, her hair was no longer pulled back into a tight pony-tail, and she bore almost no resemblance to the badass huntress the brother's had seen earlier. She saw Dean look appreciatively at the long legs she had stretched out, resting on the coffee table. She didn't say anything though. It had been a long time since anyone had really looked at her in _that _way, and it felt... nice.

She saw Sam lean forward, elbows on his knees, preparing to ask her a question. She smiled at him, encouragingly

"Kat, why-"

He was interrupted by a succession of loud thumps against the door. Quickly, Kat jumped up off the couch, grabbed the handgun she kept beside the television, and walked towards the door. Sam and Dean following quickly behind her, ready for action. She looked through the peephole, and all the tension in her body visibly dissolved. Kat sighed, setting the gun on the table beside her keys, before sighing and turning to grab the handle.

She turned the knob and pulled the door open to reveal a dark-haired man, who was completely drenched from the rain. His dark clothes, similar to those Kat had worn, were torn ragged– they were practically hanging off him, giving new meaning to the phrase 'hanging on by a thread' – and he was covered in blood. His breaths were laboured as he spoke, no it was more like _hissed _angrily;

"_Bloody werewolves!"_

To Be Continued...

* * *

So, what d'ya think?


	2. Chapter 2

**(A/N for part 2: **I must've rewritten this about five times, and it always turned out so much different, and I'm still not entirely happy with it... Also, some things may seem random or out of place,_ but nothing is random and _**_everything has reasons!_** Mwahaha)

PS - Sorry this took so long, RL got in the way majorly...

* * *

_Flashes of light, darkness, blurred faces, flames._

_Pain everywhere. Throughout the body. Through the heart. _

_Screams and fire. Louder and bighter. Senses overwhelming. Heat engulfing. A recognition of burning flesh, and the cries of joy._

_Why would anyone celebrate this pain?_

_Harsh words barked out like a curse. A final agonising scream as- _

Sam blinked into awareness in the early hours of the morning. It was still dark outside, and Dean was snoring softly on the sofa to his left. He stretched his long limbs out, his joints popping, back aching and he started to regret letting Dean win last night's game of 'rock, paper, scissors' for the sofa.

Sam had always been more of a morning person his brother, and as such he made sure to wake up bright and early every day- when they weren't on a job, that is. The younger Winchester got up and made his way to the kitchen, where the coffee was already brewing.

He listened. There was no sound coming from anywhere in the apartment. Things must've quietened down last night after he drifted off. Kat had pulled the haggard stranger straight to her bedroom with no more than an apologetic shrug to Sam and Dean. Then the noise had started.

No, not like that.

Shouting. There was a lot of shouting. Most of it in a foreign dialect Sam couldn't even begin to understand, and he was pretty sure that Kat had this place soundproofed; otherwise they would probably have had to deal with complaining neighbours. The brothers had stared at each other in confusion for a moment, before settling down to sleep. Well, it wasn't as it speculating would do them any good. They could just find out in the morning.

Sam settled himself at the breakfast bar, grabbing yesterday's newspaper off a stool and thumbing through it, eyes instinctively scanning for anything that could indicate a possible job. There was a noise in the doorway, and Sam looked up to see Kat shuffling into the kitchen, dark circles under her eyes, making a beeline for the coffee pot.

"Didn't sleep well?" He asked with a smirk. She gave a good-natured _'humph' _before settling into a stool opposite him.

"You could say that," she grimaced.

"You guys were quite, er... _loud_ last night."

"Oh, you heard that, huh?" Kat groaned at Sam's raised eyebrow. "Ugh, it's just... family, you know?" she explained.

"Yeah, I can understand that." Sam replied, remembering some of fights he'd had with Dean. When his thoughts returned to the present, he saw that Kat had also been staring off into the distance. He didn't question her about it. If she wanted to tell him, she would.

"I am sorry about last night," she apologised. "I had promised to explain everything to you, before..." she trailed off. "Well, anyway when your brother wakes up we can pick up where we left off."

Sam's eyebrows knitted together, and he leaned forward on his elbows. "Kat... you're not a hunter, are you? Not _our _kind of hunter anyway, right?" He took her slow smile as confirmation and continued, "So what else is out there? What's in your world that's not in ours?"

Her smile turned into a fully formed grin in a split second. "He said you'd be like this." She whispered, almost to herself, before "You're intuitive, Sam. If you weren't what you are, you almost could have been one of us."

Sam ignored the cryptic answer, and kept his poker face in place as she continued. "My family, we're... I guess you could call us _specialists._"

"Specialists in what, exactly?" And there was that secretive smile again. Dammit.

"In things that never quite made it into John Winchester's diary."

Sam swallowed thickly, "You know about that?"

"I know about a lot of things, Sam. And your father was good, but no matter how hard he tried there were some things he couldn't kill, couldn't explain. _That _is our job. The records are unclear on exactly how it began, but centuries ago they discovered a bloodline that was not quite human, but neither was it inherently evil. There was a family, six brothers, who possessed skills humans could only ever dream of. They were faster, sharper and better fighters than anyone had ever seen.

It's not known how, but they became aware of certain... creatures, supernatural beings and they trained themselves to fight them. These beings were not only fierce but intelligent, and it soon became clear that not all of them were guilty of crimes against humanity. So, these six brothers made an accord with these other creatures, a set of laws declaring that anyone who killed, maimed, drank, raped, stole or even touched a human would be answerable to them."

"_And let it be heard that whomsoever touch but a hair of an innocent, shall do so on pain of death without any hope of mercy or forgiveness_" Sam and Kat both turned to the voice coming from the doorway. The man from last night stood there, in clean pyjamas, no trace of the blood from before.

Absently Sam wondered if Kat had some kind men's department store in her apartment, because this was getting ridiculous. Three different sized men, and she just happened to have something that would fit them all? _Pfff._

"As much as I enjoy, taking a trip down memory lane, Kittums, couldn't we tell a story with a little more action? For instance, that one about the time Abe Lincoln and I went to a French whorehouse, but they were all midg-"

"_Edward,_" Kat hissed, cutting off the man's ramblings, and gesturing towards Sam. "This is Sam Winchester. Sam, this is my, uh, distant uncle, Edward Ravencroft."

"Nice to meet you" Sam greeted politely, holding out a hand. Edward regarded him for a moment, before smirking, "You're taller in person" and proceeded to walk towards the fridge, ignoring Sam's still outstretched hand. Confused, Sam to looked to Kat, who silently mouthed _don't ask._

"The original Brothers were awfully dull" Edward continued, head still stuck in the fridge. "Especially Jonothon. That man's idea of wit would have sent any sane person running for the hills."

"I thought Jonothon was your favourite?" Kat enquired.

Sam just sat there, completely mind-fucked. From what little Kat had told of her story, these events happened _hundreds_ of years ago, and yet Edward was talking as if... No way. That just wasn't possible. And Sam was coming from a long life of experiencing the impossible, but this was just... _no._

Edward re-emerged from the fridge, holding a strange concoction of ingredients that didn't look like would be very good together, replying "He was. The others hated me. And just because he was my friend doesn't mean he wasn't boring." He looked at Sam, then, a worried expression on his face. "I think we may have broken him, darling. Go ask the other one if he knows how to fix it."

When Dean had wandered bleary-eyed into the kitchen shortly afterwards, Edward had retreated back into Kat's room, and Kat continued her story. Dean listened intently, stuffing pancakes into his face, and apparently unfazed that he'd missed something.

"The brothers became a type of supernatural law enforcement, protecting humanity from what became known as the 'Immortal Races'. The Brothers themselves had many names, the best translations from the Old English are _Night Shadows_, or _Daggers of the Night-_"

"Catchy" Dean murmured, giving Sam a sidelong '_what-is-this-shit' _glance.

Kat elected to ignore him, continuing "- and they passed the responsibility, as well as their enhanced genetics down, through the generations and the brotherhood has become a worldwide organisation, with several training facilities in different countries. But now we are known simply as _Shadows_. "

"Huh," Dean considered. "So how come we've never heard of you?"

"We are a very covert operation. We deal only with the immortal races, leaving the regular supernatural baddies to hunters such as yourselves."

"Wow. What a bag of dicks." Dean blurted out, unabashedly.

Kat shrugged, "It's tradition. The Laws of the Brotherhood are sacrosanct, and those of the bloodline must all swear a blood oath. We are bound by it until The Time."

"The Time?" Sam asked.

"There far more to this story than can possibly be explained in one sitting, but basically every generation there are six individuals of the Blood who come together to fight alongside one another. They are more skilled than the rest of their kind. And whatever brings them together; fate, destiny, divine intervention, call it what you will, has a plan for them. Their lives are not supposed to be consumed by violence and killing, it would only serve to drive them insane-"

At this, the Winchester brothers exchanged matching 'raised-eyebrow' glances.

"- and the Time comes when the Six have done what they were supposed to and they split up, scattering across the globe, attempting to assimilate back into regular society, and forbidden from ever contacting one another."

Something flickered in Sam's eyes as he interpreted the change in pronouns, and Kat could almost see the cartoon lightbulb above his head. "You're one of them, aren't you? One of the Six?"

Kat nodded. "And three days ago, one of my Brothers broke our Laws to meet with me. To tell me about you. And why I needed to protect you."

As it turned out, Kat's way of assimilating into society was to get a job as a the PA to a big city lawyer. She showered quickly and left to walk the five blocks to her office building. She told the Winchesters to make themselves at home, and to ignore Edward if he ever came out the bedroom. She never did say exactly who he was or why he was here...huh.

Dean grabbed a few beers out of the fridge and sat down in front of the flat screen, and Sam knew any attempt at a sensible conversation was gone the moment Dean uttered the words; "Dude, she has the Busty Asian Beauties Channel on this thing. _Sweet._"

Leaving the elder Winchester to his beer and porn- _ugh_, Sam shivered, that was _not_ an image he needed in his head- Sam went into what appeared to be some kind of study. Bookcases lined the walls, and_ hello_ computer. Looks like its research time.

A few hours later, and Sam knew everything that was public record about Miss Katrina Summers. There was a fire in her childhood home when she was a baby. Father and twin brother presumed dead. Mother remarried and living in Washington with a museum curator. Moved around a lot as a kid, not a lot of close friends.

The yearbook he found on a shelf had only one picture of her in it, with two other guys who were on the swim team. It was a casual group photo at some kind of meet, and the young blonde –who looked more like a model than anyone Sam had ever seen, even through the grainy photograph- had turned to the side and a tattoo was visible across part of back. It looked like some kind of wings and strange lettering, but it was hard to make out.

He pawed through Kat's bookcase, fingers lingering over the tomes on law practice, the gold lettering on the spines calling him back to another life, a life he should have had with Jess... He shook himself out of those thoughts, Jess was gone, he'd never be a lawyer. Those dreams had all died in that fire at Stanford, and no good would come from dwelling on it any longer than he already had.

Kat's collection ranged from classic literature, to raunchy romance novels, to thick historical volumes and a lot of _New York Times' bestsellers. _ She even had the full collection of works by supernatural fiction writer, Mason Reid. Sam had heard of him, Jess had loved his books, and always left them lying around the house. She'd tried, and failed, many times to get him to read the books, insisting that he'd _"love them if you just gave them a chance, Mr. Smarty-pants". _

He smiled fondly at the memory, and perhaps it was this nostalgia that caused him to reach out and pick up one the older novels, one with a purple cover, and a picture of a creepy old mansion on the front. He remembered Jess sitting on a lawn chair in the middle of summer, completely engrossed by this one.

He thumbed through it lazily, and stopped when he realized Kat had annotated, circled and highlighted things on almost every page. Odd. He kept flicking until he got to the front of the book, where he noticed the dedication. He heard Jessica's voice in his head saying _"-and he must really love her, he dedicates every single book to her, but no one really knows what he's trying to tell. It's so cryptic, look." _

Sam saw it in his mind's eye, as well as in front of him;

_"As always, for Katrina_

_Don't worry, you're getting there."_

Sam dropped the book. He grabbed another from the shelf, flipped to the dedications page;

_"For Katrina,_

_Remember, don't let your guard down_

_And keep your eyes (and knives) sharp"_

He looked through all of the Mason Reid books on the shelf, each one dedicated in the same way, "For Katrina" with an odd message following it. That coupled with the notes Kat had making, and things started to come together.

"Holy shit," Sam breathed as the realization struck him.

To be continued...


End file.
